


without craft

by royal_chandler



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dark Side Rey, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5799235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Rey’s wickedness lends her to a severe impatience.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	without craft

**Author's Note:**

> The part where I pretend to know how the Force works.

Rey’s wickedness lends her to a severe impatience. There’s an urgency in her—potent and unadulterated and rampant—and left unchecked it will undermine what they’re working toward. She’s in desperate need of a lesson but Ren’s aim isn’t to temper her darkness.

No. The cruel curl of her reddened lip and the fever-bright, sinister stain in the copper of her eyes are details he’ll continue to afford himself, and the captive held in wrist irons.

She’s a three lettered word for merciless as she draws back her black hood, grinning like a blade fresh from a whetstone. Rey leans to the prisoner, hand outstretched and poised when the foolishly emboldened prisoner doesn’t let anything off his tongue. Echoing the captive’s fears and desires—the resistance’s secrets more sacred to him—in a mocking rhetoric, she pecks through the surface thoughts expertly.

She does well as always. It’s the after that’s difficult, quickening her to a bristled anger and injured pride. She’s without craft in her attempts to delve deeper, imprudent and sprawling, trying to touch at everything all at once. She won’t allow for Ren to steer her in this place, heaving up walls that crush with the strength of a hide tide, the captive’s wretched screams at his ears.

(“It doesn’t make any sense,” she’d said, furious, wildly searching the control panel in front of her as if it held answers. “The first time—that time with you. I don’t understand why I can’t do it. If I don’t gain Snoke’s trust, we don’t have a chance.”

“Perhaps it was the challenge,” he’d hazarded behind a modulated voice. “You had an actual fight on your hands.”

“And what? I should play at it like a game of holochess? None of these prisoners are even force-sensitive. Also…”

“Yes?”

“With you, the force, it always finds me, is there to meet me halfway. It’s effortless compared to the other parts.”)

His hand forced, Ren impresses upon her to let him take over—setting her stock-still and immobile, mute—because if she doesn’t, the interrogation will bring to fruition a death without providing a substantial and useful result. He can only explain that away once and it’s imperative that Snoke trust Rey of his own volition.

She’s visibly riled when he releases her but she does abandon the room, leaving Ren to tend to the matter in short order and expose their enemy’s tactical designs.

Later, unmasked—and his helmet absent—Ren approaches her with an offering, a teaching of forbearance. Rey’s harsh laugh dissolves into a charged disbelief and she wonders how someone who runs so mercurial has the audacity.

“Some skills are transferable,” he answers, low and close. He’s careful not to touch her, keeping his burning and wanting palms by his side. “I could show you, how there is reward in an enduring wait, the merit it can hold.”

Anger shadows Rey’s features initially but Ren maintains his honest stare, unflinching, and then the angers changes into something unguarded and novel.

“I’ve never. There hasn’t been anyone before,” she confesses. “I don’t know how. I could very well disappoint you.”

The statement and its insecure tenor are inherently wrong and Ren lets her know by capturing the bow of her mouth that’s been torturing him for what feels like an eternity. He undresses her slowly, takes his time with releasing her hair from its bind and causing it to flare against the sheets. She arches under his prolonged worship, pleads when he skims around her aches, pressing her against the edge and pulling her back in immeasurable intervals. She’s a madness cased in sweat and other than violent curses her words are obscured, bitten into a fist and then the nape of his neck.

He fills her hands with his above her head as he finally fucks her, relieving them both. The energy between them is so swollen with intensity that Ren expects it to crack along with his resolve, to set off sparks in the damp air between them. She trembles underneath him and tightens around him, gasping, and he spends, loses himself in the enormity of everything that she is.

Rey blinks up at him and there are twin new moons in her eyes—versed and deadly.

Ren almost pities whomsoever is next.


End file.
